Sun Shining in on You
by Pipsqueek
Summary: This is now a chapter fic! Those who have read the first, it's placed in here as chapter 1, so skip it. And yes, there is now a pairing I've settled on! Enjoy, r/r, etc.
1. The Scent of Roses

  
Disclaimer: You guessed it, I don't own it! The wonderfully inspired J.K. Rowling owns it. So please, don't sue!   
  
A/N: This is my first fic, And All I can say is this: Do not be gentle, be honest. (But of course, not brutally so!) In essence, I'm asking that this time around you avoid the heavy stuff. Just tell me if I got a characters eye-color wrong, or they seemed off. Thanks!   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Victor Krum had been rushed off of the field moments before, after being stunned. The nurse was huddled over him, reversing the spell and getting him back on his feet. Suspicion of foul play ran rampant amongst the stadium, but none of the judges could prove anything. So the crowds continued to watch the actions of the two remaining players, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, cheering loudly as they made their way to the cup side by side, Harry slung against the taller boys frame. But at the last moment, to the surprise of everybody in the stadium-- including themselves-- they disappeared. Some of the students leaned forward to get a closer look, blinking. There were murmurs of confusion amongst the crowd. Not wanting to have a riot on his hands, Ludo Bagman tried desperately to talk above them, somehow managing to remain convincing despite his own baffled mind.  
  
"Ladies and gentleman, please, remain seated. I'm assured that this is all part of the tournament...So please, remain calm!" He glanced at the judges, who were going red in the face for this lie. "Apparently, it has been taken elsewhere to sort out the last two..er..players...."  
  
Krum, who was getting dazedly to his feet, looked about, trying to get the stiffness out of his neck.   
  
Damn that Potter, he though vehemently, he'll pay for that....  
  
He was cut off by the sound of feet behind him. Madam Pomfrey had just left to retrieve some more supplies, so he doubted it was her. Wondering who it was, and unable to look over his shoulder, he turned.  
  
To his shock, there stood Hermione. She was looking at him with a mixture of concern and distrust. Her eyes were frozen on his. Without even thinking twice he locked his hand around her wrist, began to lead her out of the stadium into the cool night air outside. She was still looking at him in that horrible way. As if he had done something terrible. Then again, he had. He had used an unforgivable curse.   
  
"Are you okay?" She asked softly. She did not try to leave, but stood, pinning him with her gaze. He looked about quickly.  
  
"Hermeoninee, look, I do not think you vill understand, but I must go." He stared at her franticly, begging for something. She looked away.  
  
"I know." Her voice was soft. That was when he realized it. She knew what he had done.  
  
He thought desperately. There had to be something he could do. There just had to be! He came forward slowly, tilting her chin upwards to meet the soft brush of his lips. She shivered, and drew her cloak more tightly around her. The girl continued to look at him though, her brown eyes gentle, and yet filled with knowledge.  
  
"But... But I vont you to com vith me..." He took her hands in his, still looking down into her eyes. For a moment, she still gazed back, then suddenly tried to pull away, turning her head to one side. She tugged hard as she could, and he finally let go.   
  
"I can't. Not after what you did--what you were going to do to Harry!" Her voice had gone cold. And that name, again! Always that name! He suddenly found himself pulling out his wand.  
  
"You should have com, Hermeoninee." His voice had become dangerous. She took a step back. Suddenly, his voice rose to a yell.  
  
"It vas that Potter all along, vasin't it? You loved him, not me. You lied, Hermeoninee. VHY DID YOU LIE!?" But instead of attacking, or hitting her, his voice lowered to a whisper. She looked up again, about to protest. She had slid her hand into her cloak, and she suddenly went cold, her mouth dry. There were no words left.  
  
She had left her wand inside...  
  
Krum was fast approaching, his eyes aglow with a sort of half-mad light. He seemed as if a preditor on the hunt, his wand poised for attack, directed at the center of her being. Circling, her quick mind flitting from one failed chance of escape to another, the chilling realization suddenly came to her that she might die.  
  
"I loved you like I loved nobody else, ever. I can't understand vhy you did not love me. But for you betrayal, zer is only von thing..." He raised his wand, and hissed, "Crucio. Crucio.....crucio..."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
At that moment, a scream filled the stadium. It rose and fell, a wail of indescribable pain. The crowd was quickly drawn away from their prior stupor. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. People immediately ran from the stadium in a flurry of terror, trying to get outside, either away from it, towards it, or pulled along by the swarm. Amongst the choas there seemed no end. The exit gleamed ahead of them. Their way was blocked, however. They froze at the scene.   
  
Victor Krum stood with his wand raised, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide, his skin pale and drawn. He was still whispering a word beneath his breath, his face contorting each time he spoke it. A small film of sweat covered his forehead and nose.  
  
Hermione Granger lay on the ground, barely moving. Her body convulsed every time Krums lips moved. From what the crowd could see she was still making the feeblest of struggles to rise, but soon even these were quelled as they looked on, shocked into silence.  
  
Ron Weasley ran forward suddenly. With one quick action, he turned to Krum and expelled the wand from his hand, but did not look at him. Instead, he ran to the girls side, checking for a breath, any sign of life. Franticly, he lifted her into his arms clumsily, shaking her slightly. Tears were beginning to squeeze out of his eyes.  
  
"Hermione!" He yelled desperately. Nobody moved. He stared at the faces."Come on, we have to help her!" There was still no response. The crowd seemed to be parting though. And out of the gap came little Neville Longbottom.   
  
He stared for a moment.  
  
"The....the....Cru..." He stuttered for a moment, trying to find words. Unexpectedly, his face contorted. He rushed forward, his fist flying through the air, and hit Krum with all of his strength. The Quiddich star did nothing to resist. He continued to kick him screaming all the while: "The Cruciatus curse, you BASTARD. The Cruciatus! How could you? HOW COULD YOU?!!?"  
  
Finally, the chaos subsided. The staff and judges had managed to push through. Neville was pounding his fists weakly on Krum's back. He had fallen to his knees and was speaking brokenly, eyes staring ahead. Dumbledor came forward and set a hand on his shoulder.   
  
"That's enough, Neville." He whispered.  
  
The boy stood slowly, staring at Krum. He swayed gently to one side, then turned and looked at the professor. Then, just as fast as he had been consumed my anger, his eyes filled with tears. He fell forward and began sobbing into his shoulder. He didn't even try to explain. He didn't have to.  
  
"The....Cruciatus...it...my...my Mum..and Dad...." He managed, before giving up speaking completely. With a nod from Dumbledor Madam Pomfrey came forward and led the boy away.   
  
Nobody, not even Malfoy, dared to laugh.   
  
Hagrid, just managing to push through, lifted Hermione into his arms to take her away. As she rose, her eyes cracked open slightly.  
  
"Hagr..id?" She whispered dazedly before once again losing consciousness. Her head lolled gently against his shoulder, like a child in slumber. He nodded to Ron, and the three were off without another word.  
  
Karkaroff walked forward and leaned Krum on his shoulder. The boy was barely conscious, blood streaming from a large cut on his temple. Fudge gave them a look that cut off any protests that might have come. The headmaster glared daggers at Dumbledor for a moment, though. They followed in the same direction as Hagrid without as much as a backward glance.  
  
Dumbledor stood for a moment, before speaking in a tone nobody had ever heard from him. It was pure anger.  
  
"Everybody back to the stadium." He said softly, and began tripping off to his seat. Moody somehow had caught up with him, and the two travelled in silence for a while. Moody's magical eye travelled up and down his friends form. Finally, he halted.  
  
"I'm going to the Hospital wing." He muttered.  
  
Dumbledor watched his retreating form with a sort of concerned concentration. For a short while he sat pondering his friend, despite his absence. Nearly fifteen minutes passed by him as he sat, immersed in thought. But his gaze was suddenly forced to the center of the stadium by a yell of surprise from the crowd.   
  
Harry had returned.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Mad-eye came into the room slowly. Surprisingly, the nurse did not shoo him away. Instead she looked at him, a pleading light in her eyes. She also managed to look quite exasperated.  
  
"I don't know what more I can do for her. She will live...But right now she is exhausted, from the pain I'd suspect. Honestly, she needs bedrest. But Weasley refuses to leave!" She gestured at the boy sitting in the chair in the corner, holding Hermione's hand, looking at them nervously. He looked wilted, but his eyes were wide. Moody guessed he was still in shock, and correctly so. He came over and pulled up a chair, sitting next to the boy. Ron looked up at him, his eyes wide, and clutched her hand slightly tighter, almost protectivly.  
  
"Professor Moody? W-What is it?"  
  
Moody smiled at him. It had a rather twisting affect on his scarred features. The boy was somehow still capable of conscious thought. Maybe he did have a level head on his shoulders, after all....  
  
" Perhaps you, too, should think of a career as an Auror."   
  
He was encouraged a bit farther by the small strained smile Ron gave him.  
  
"Yeah...Maybe." Ron stopped his musings though, and his face fell again. "Why isn't she waking up? The nurse said she was okay, so why isn't she awake?"  
  
Moody sighed inwardly. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small vial containing a greenish liquid. He poured a cup of tea from a nearby tray and added the contents, causing a small puff of purplish smoke to roll into the air.  
  
"Well, Ron, it turns out there is a use for those blasted-whatever screwts. Snape has been fiddling with this for a bit. It's supposed to help with shock, and as sort of a pain neutralizer, and all that rot."  
  
Ron went on edge at the mention of Snape, blanching slightly. He eyed the teacup suspiciously. Moody couldn't suppress a chuckle. A boy after his own heart. Normally his caution would prove helpful to him. But what of it now?  
  
"Don't worry about the old toad poisoning either of you now." He continued "I brewed this batch myself. Give it to her. And take a nip at it yourself, while your at it. You look a bit jittery, know what I mean?"   
  
"Me? Jittery?" Ron paused, his voice cracking, "...You better believe it."  
  
He grinned up at Moody. After a moment, Moody grinned back. And to think he had worried about Potter? But still, they were too wary. Soon he would be suspect. His eyebrows creased worriedly, and his magic eye rolled back in his head to look at the nurse who was staring at them. Ron had just drunk the last of the stuff, and was rapidly dozing off, leaning against the edge of the bed.  
  
A toothy smile creased his face, growing to a crecendo of hainus delight as the nurse rushed from the room. He heard the wail from the crowd and approaching footsteps. Potter must be back. Now was the time to act. Silently he lifted Ron's unconscious form. He had not drunk enough of the poison to kill himself, but to be put him into a deep sleep. He did not stir as he was taken into Moody's arms. Gently, he straightened the sheets of Hermione's bed. She would soon be dead from the draught Ron had given to her. It was all going perfectly.  
  
Moody rushed from the room, and into the night.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Harry was lead into the hospital, blinking owlishly. There were gentle arms guiding him to a bed, to lay down. But he didn't want to lay. He was struggling to see through the group of people mobbing him. He was trying to find what had become of Ron and Hermione. Where were they?  
  
A quarter-hour before, he and Cedric, the other remaining champion, had been swept off by the Triwizard cup, which had turned out to be a portkey. The events that had followed were by far the worst of his life. Harry shuddered, recalling vividly the body of Cedric Diggory laid out before him, the boys eyes wide in his final terror. He remembered the Death Eaters with a sort of fascinating horror. How all of those people could walk the line between good and evil? It was beyond him. And somewhere in the background, there was a man crying, and a woman shouting her son's name.  
  
"Cedric.....Cedric...."  
  
Cedric....  
  
Harry closed his eyes, trying to drive out the rush of thoughts, the swirling turmoil of his mind. His mother and father. All those people, dead. Killing...killing endlessly and madly. Now he found himself with the oddest of clarity observing the people around him. Through the haze of worried thoughts in his own mind, and voices calling to him, things began to swirl. He heard yet another yell rising to a crescendo. He wanted to fall, to sleep endlessly and forget about this nightmare. But as he stumbled forward, half-blind, a strange thing happened.  
  
The crowds ended, like a sea meeting shore.   
  
Now he stood in an open area in the hospital wing. He looked dully at a bed directly in front of him. There were people all around it. Fleetingly, he thought how odd it was that people were so interested in such a thing. But as he came forward, he was unprepared for what waited there.  
  
Hermiones pale countenance shone back at him. Deathly still, just as Cedric. Gone were the brown eyes, replaced by thin whitish hoods. Her cheeks held none of the color they had previously bore.   
  
And then Harry found himself doing something he had previously been unable to do. Wracked sobs tore from his throat. There was a stinging in his eyes.  
  
James Potter...  
  
Lily Potter...  
  
Cedric Diggory...  
  
Now, Hermione Granger...  
  
And Ron. Where was Ron? Surely he hadn't died because of him as well?   
  
A sudden wave of loneliness swept over him as he sank to the floor. Through his blurred eyes he saw Dumbledor lifting the ragdoll body, rushing off. Taking her away from him, just like all of the others. And where was Ron?  
  
And he realized he cared. And he realized that more than anything all he wanted right now was to have Ron looking at him in that joking way. He wanted him to tell him he was going to be okay, life was going to be okay.   
  
He wanted to be able to laugh.  
  
He wanted Hermione to be back, and to be worrying over him. He wanted to hear her voice again, asking if he was alright. He wanted the friendly silence they would give him. Or questions. Or anything.   
  
But all he had was a girl that looked dead laying on the other side of the room, and an empty chair by his bed. He turned his hands over on the floor in front of him, staring at the backs where the thin veins rose and fell. His fingers scrabbled uselessly at the stone floor, now slick with his tears. A great wizard indeed! Not even able to save four people that meant the world to him...   
  
And slowly, he stood and walked across the flagged floor. He laid down in the bed. The sheets smelled like her, he thought dozily. Like roses... He brought the sheets to his nose, breathing deeply, remembering her.   
  
Was this all he would have left?  
  
People were staring at him. At her. He wanted them to go away, wished they would with all his heart. This was his time, his pain, not to be shared with fools who gaped and muttered. He wanted to remember things like this, her last few moments with him. The smell of her. The memory of his friend Ron, and exactly what the redhead looked like. Maybe Ron was already dead as well? Maybe it didn't matter, because, he himself was dying? He felt so empty that he thought it had to be.  
  
He tried desperately to recall what his life had been like just a few hours before. His friends had been all around him, closing him in safety. Now they were all gone from his life forever. Slowly, he fell asleep in the chill embrace of his memories, the sheets damp with tears, Ron's face hovering before him, and the scent of roses everywhere.  
  



	2. Is Any Hope Left?

  
Disclaimer: Once again, I confess! I do NOT own it. Alas!  
  
A/N: This one is for all you H/Hr shippers out there! R/Hr will come soon, I promise! So read on.  
  
~~~~~  
  
The world was darkened and shadowed. Cloudy hoods shielded his vision, but there was a faint light beyond it. Slowly, it grew. He screwed up his eyes, trying to block out the rays of light sneaking into his vision. But it was to no avail. Harry woke up.  
  
The first thing that struck him was that the room was terribly silent. Gone was the jostling and pushing and yelling of last night. Gone also was the blurred surroundings and pounding headache. He was left only with a dull throbbing in the pit of the stomach, and the feeling that something had been forgotten. That something was missing. And suddenly it struck him.  
  
Hermione!  
  
Jumping to his feet, and crying out slightly at the cold stone floor, he looked desperately to the other end of the room. What he saw there made a cold hand clutch at his insides, and twist them about.  
  
The bed was empty, the sheets new and stiff. The breakfast plate was absent from the table by it's side. There was no nurse on duty.  
  
He stumbled backward, dumbstruck. It had to be a dream.... Some horrible...  
  
Horrible...  
  
....Dream....  
  
He continued to falter backwards, tripping slightly, trembling inwardly as the full meaning.   
  
Hermione, dead?  
  
But it wasn't fair! All of the things that she still had to see, to dream, to fight for! She was supposed to be there for him! Right up until the end.... It wasn't supposed to end like this. God sakes, she had never even had a chance to fall in love!  
  
He paused, shocked at his thought.  
  
Love? What's more, with who?  
  
And it was with these as his thoughts that he tripped over something furry behind him, which howled loudly. To further the bad situation, he tumbled into something soft and blanket-covered, which cried softly. And there he found himself, in the lap of his 'dead' friend, laying on her bed.  
  
To say Hermione had seen better days would be like saying 'Gee, Snape is in a good mood today' after he had just ripped up your potions homework and tossed it into your cauldron. There were large circles under her eyes. Her skin was pale as last night, lacking only a bit of it's previous waxiness. She looked down at him with a bleary confusion unlike her. She blinked her large chocolate eyes.  
  
"Ah!..oh... Harry!" She smiled suddenly, and sighed softly, "Your awake..."  
  
She heaved a gentle sigh. He sat looking up at her as if he had never seen her before. He also seemed rather slow to move....  
  
"Er....Harry?"  
  
"Yes?" He squeaked.  
  
"Could you get off of my lap? Please?"  
  
He leapt off of her as if she had suddenly caught fire. Looking rather confused still, and a bit shocked at himself, he stared bashfully at the floor, as if his composure had fallen on it and he was trying to retrieve it. Finally he looked up, remembering the previous night. He stared at her.   
  
"Hermione!" He shouted, quivering.  
  
"Yes?" She cocked an eyebrow tiredly.  
  
"Your...your supposed to be dead!.... I mean, that is to say, I'm...I'm glad your not...but still... Oh, your alive!"  
  
Giving up any other words, he hugged her. She smiled gently, and returned the hug, albeit a bit tiredly. Settling her head on his shoulder for a moment, they remained together, comfortable, and yet unaware of why neither wanted to move. Harry clung tightly, a flurry of thoughts somewhere between thankful and terrified flung themselves through his mind.  
  
Finally, they separated. Harry remembered for the first time in the past few minuets just how tired he was, as he sank exhaustedly against the bedframe. But another thought jarred him back into wakefulness. He sat up quickly and looked around.  
  
"Hermione, what happened to Ron?" He inquired.  
  
Before she could say anything, there was a slight clinking behind them. The door opened, and both their heads turned to meet the gaze of Dumbledore, Mcgonagall, Snape, and Madam Pomfrey.  
  
The nurse immediately busied herself in the corner, preparing tea for the two invalids. The other three bustled over to their bedside. Snape was the first to arrive. Without a word, he seized Hermione's face in his hands and turned it towards him. He looked into one of her eyes, then the other. He opened her mouth, turned her head from side to side, and finally placed his fingers to her wrist, still looking intently at her in a way that suggested that he was extremely angry about something. But at last he spoke, and his tone was far gentler than anything Harry had ever heard from him, or indeed thought possible. Inexplicably, his face softened to something bridging on concern, and even slight awe.  
  
"Mrs. Granger, I congratulate you." He muttered in his smooth, icy tones, "You are the first person in recorded history to ever survive a dose of 'Cantalis Aphrenibria' that large. And let me say, that is an accomplishment even YOU should be proud of."  
  
Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide. She looked rather bewildered, and a tad ruffled from the rough handling.   
  
"Er...thank you..."  
  
She looked curiously from Dumbledore, to the nurse, to Mcgonagall, and last to Snape. She waited for them to say something, unmoving, silent.  
  
"Get some rest, Hermione." Professor Mcgonagall murmured finally, pressing her back onto the bed, "Harry, you come with us. Dumbledore wants to speak to you in his office."  
  
~~~~~  
  
Seated in the corner, his hands folded neatly on his lap, he awaited the return of his headmaster.   
  
Tick, tick, tick....  
  
The clock in the background sped onward, listing away the minutes that added to the hours which he had been waiting, listening to the frantic whispers of the three teachers in the other room.  
  
Tick, tick, tick....  
  
He glanced nervously at the doorway. His heart skipped a beat as it creaked open suddenly. But he was only greeted with Snape, who entered silently, clenching his fists, near to the point of drawing blood. But he was otherwise outwardly calm.  
  
"Potter." He said shortly, nodding curtly.  
  
Tick, tick, tick....  
  
"Professor..?"  
  
Snape gave him no notice, but proceeded to the window, and stared outside at the dimly-lit fields through the off-hue glass of the room. His hands were now gathered behind him, the fingers twining and untwining.  
  
Tick, tick, tick....  
  
He turned silently, outlined in the light streaming in. He walked to another window, and leaned forward, hands clenching the iron sill. His shoulders slumped forward a bit.  
  
Tick, tick, tick....  
  
A gentle breath escaped him, as if he were about to speak. Moments passed, Harry holding his own.  
  
Tick, tick....  
  
The fingers released the sill, and gathered behind him again, knotting tightly.  
  
Tick....  
  
"Ron has been captured." He hissed, back still turned.  
  
The world fell gently away from him. He stared at the wall, his heart beating a wild hammer. Trembling, he somehow managed to gather his wits.  
  
"H--how? By who?" He stammered.  
  
Snape went on to explain the past nights events which had been gathered together to the best of their ability. He finally trailed off at the point of Harry's return, and went silent again. The room was plunged into quiet.  
  
"And Hermione?" Harry creaked out at last.  
  
"She is very sick, Potter. I am not sure what more we can do for her."  
  
Harry couldn't contain himself anymore. This was too much.  
  
"And why did YOU come out to tell me? What happened to Dumbledore?" He yelled.  
  
"So that you could understand that I am going to help you, and to prevent any more foolish assumptions on your part. We don't want another 'first year', do we?" A bit of his old venom seeped back into his voice.  
  
"No," Said Harry quietly, "We don't."  
  
Without another word, he walked out of the room, the clock ticking busily behind him. He paused in the doorway.  
  
"How much longer does Hermione have?" He asked, his voice shaking. Tears dared to show themselves on the rims of his eyes.  
  
"A week." Snape replied with breath alone, his back still turned.  
  
Harry ran from the room, down the corridors, his footsteps echoing behind him. Snape stood, still staring out the window at the grounds. His nails bit vehemently into his flesh, blood beginning to leak out of the wounds on the back of his hands.  
  
A single tear dropped from his cheek and onto the iron.   
  
"Potter..." He whispered softly, "Damn your luck, Potter."  
  
He left the room, the tinted sunlight, and the clock, still ticking in the corner.  
  
Tick, tick, tick....  
  
Time was running short.  



End file.
